


Worth the Weight

by herbailiwick



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fanfiction, Past Abuse, Sibling Incest, Unrequited Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-22
Updated: 2013-05-22
Packaged: 2017-12-12 14:35:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/812673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herbailiwick/pseuds/herbailiwick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One-sided Wincest (Sam with feelings for Dean). Implication of past sexual abuse (to Dean).</p><p>Sam finally breaks under the pressure of his biggest secret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worth the Weight

Sam really only has himself to blame. Because Becky keeps sending him her...her... _literature_ , so he can proofread it, but he'd never _agreed_ to proofread it. Hell, he doesn't even know how she got his email address! He keeps telling her to go away. He'd honestly rather suck down half a gallon of salt-laced holy water and cut a game of tic-tac toe into his forearm with a silver knife than acknowledge her perverted fantasies. He's considered  _telling her_ that. It's been a close thing.

But his disgust for Becky's brand of Sam/Dean doesn't change the fact that Sam remembers. Sam remembers the thrill of finding out about the pairing in the first place. He remembers the words he'd skimmed about stolen glances and heartfelt apologies and the trace of callused fingertips, his heart racing, his own fingertips feeling out of place against his laptop keys, a strange and dark feeling of rightness washing over him because...well.

If there's homoerotic subtext in the _Supernatural_ books, it isn't Chuck's fault. It's _Sam's_. Dean may happen to be a butch, bisexual man overcompensating for his more tender nature due to the life he'd had to lead under the man he'd happened to be raised by, but Sam's the one with all the inappropriate feelings.

Sam can't separate himself, his thoughts, his feelings, his daily routine, his dreams, from Dean. He couldn't do it if his life depended on it, if Bobby's life depended on it, and those are facts, not opinions. Ever since Jess, ever since what's followed, if Sam is like an ocean, Dean is like the tide. His moods draw Sam in, push him away. His wants become what Sam wants. Dean's happiness is paramount for Sam. There'd been hints of that while they grew up, but Stanford had almost made Sam normal.

Jess's death had pushed him right back into Dean's strong, waiting arms. At times, he'd thought Jess's death was punishment for his hidden affections for his own flesh and blood.

One might be able to sit and psychoanalyze their past together, how Dean's lack of filter when it came to telling the more...sexually delicate Sam about his exploits might have played a role in things. One might look at their responsibility to each other, the one that had reprogrammed their hearts entirely, and pinpoint that as the cause of all Sam's...whatever.

Maybe Sam's just fucked up. 

But either way, Sam likes what he sees on the internet. He likes Sam/Dean. There's the intellectual side of things that fit the own, brief wanderings of his mind. People write about the connection between being such good partners in The Family Business and being good partners in love. They can certainly finish each other's sentences, and predict each other's actions, and forgive each other almost anything. They have no greater friendship than the one they've formed with each other.

Dean is like the sun to Sam's earth. What good is all that Sam has to offer as an ocean if there's no Dean to move him? What good is all that Sam has in store if there's no Dean to foster his growth?

Dean is everything that Sam lacks. He's brave, and beautiful, and...okay, maybe "pure" is pushing it, but at least he's no Sam. At least he's not tainted by Sam's mind's stupid, brother-loving tricks.

Sam wants Dean sexually. He wants his freckles, wants to ignite the heat Sam's seen in those eyes (but not aimed at him), wants to make noises come out of Dean that Sam knows it's wrong to remember, but at the same time has never been able to forget.

He does't run into much of a problem, unless he drinks and gets all handsy. He wants to envelop Dean, to keep him, to nuzzle him and pet him and tell him he doesn't _need_ to find worth or release in anyone else, just in Sam. He wants to let him know Sam is _his_ , to move, to reject, to keep.

He would never say that, at least not while sober, and he's had yet to say it while drunk. Saying that would be like suicide, because a life without Dean, after what happened to Jess...it means stagnation. It means the death of any sign of life, any sign of warmth or energy in Sam. And Sam just isn't ready to experience that loss again.

***

Becky's actually not the best writer of the pairing, which is called...well...Wincest. No, Sam has read more than just Becky's stories, and he's become...intrigued. He's actually bookmarked a couple here and there and stuck them in the folders marked "Obscure Exorcisms" and "Lawrence, KS", which are both full enough and look old enough to not be very interesting to Dean. 

There needs to be a phrase that goes beyond "guilty pleasure", there really needs to be, because whatever it is, the stories are that for Sam. "Guilty pleasure" makes it sound like he's sneaking a Snickers bar or something, or watching and liking _A Shot at Love with Tila Tequila_. Neither of those things, as far as Sam knows, would send him straight to Hell. But this thing for Dean? Oh man. That just might.

The temptation can subside for a while. Sometimes, there'll be a stretch of days, even weeks, where he's good with how things are. There are times where it seems like it might finally be _over_. 

And then, Deans eyes'll crinkle and he'll remember something that happened and he'll _talk_ about it. He'll mention the paper Sam did on dogs in the 3rd grade, or he'll laugh about the time he went to pull Sam from a party only to find Sam deep into his seventh minute of Heaven. The sick thing is, even back then, Sam wouldn't have minded if Dean had pushed Penny Warshaw out of the tiny closet and started the seven minutes all over again with just the two of them.

***

Sam reads more and more Wincest stories as time goes on. He's careful to clear the browser history, very careful, but he simply can't stay away for more than a couple months at a time. It's not just demon blood Sam's addicted to. He's addicted to Dean's comments, to the smell of Dean, to the way Dean always saves him, without fail.

Sam remembers, just once or twice, when he was much younger, before Stanford, when he'd actually fought back against a monster less just so Dean could save him, or just so Dean could have something to help him stitch up. Because John didn't really do stitching up, if he could help it. He preferred to see his boys already stitched up. It was less painful that way.

Sometimes Dean's actually all Sam can think about. His incredible beauty, like a sculptor came and crafted him in the night just for Sam to look at all day, every day. His jokes that are either memorably good, painfully true or insensitive, or too nerdy and obscure for Sam to even get, in which case Sam feels awkward and out of the loop, but any feeling Dean gives is better than being without him. 

Oh, he needs his breathing space sometimes. Sometimes he gets so angry he just wants to scream at Dean that Dean fucked him up. He wants to yell at Dean for having introduced him to sex too early, too heavily, for not letting up about it. He wants to yell at Dean for being so beautiful (Wrong, so wrong! You _cannot_ say that to people!), and sometimes he just wants Dean to pay.

But it's not Dean's fault Sam wants Dean, not really. Sam's an addict, but Dean never signed up for that. Dean never, ever wanted that. Even just finding out would hurt Dean right down to the core.

***

This is all Sam's fault. Because he sometimes (okay, often) stays signed into his email, forgetting that he has a nosy fucking big brother with a tendency to get shamefully invasive when he's bored. Or maybe, you know, he just fucking _trusts him_. The provider of SpaghettiOs, the driver of the Impala, the protector, the genius hunter who made his own EMF reader out of a Walkman, the only one who couldn't resist most of Sam's pleas. Yeah, but, no, sure, he can just turn that trust off like a faucet. _Right_.

One day, Sam comes in to find his laptop open, Dean watching TV, and one of Becky's Word documents open on the screen.

Setting the food down, he carefully approaches the laptop.

"So, you're BFFs with Becky now?"

"What?! No!" Sam says quickly.

Dean smirks. "Whatever you say, Sam. I guess I'll let you get back to your _research_ , huh?"

Sam feels so stupid all of a sudden. Dean's just joking! Dean's just messing with him. Of _course_ he's not friends with Becky!

"You're such a jerk. Fuck you!"

"Whatever you say," Dean says with a wink, and Sam sits down heavily in the chair, closes out of the document with a punch of the button, promptly deletes it, sends Becky another email expressing that he doesn't appreciate her sending him her freakish fantasies so will she please 

just 

_stop_.

***

"So, this, uh, this...fan...writing stuff. Funfiction."

"Fanfiction."

"Right. People think that's...real?"

"No. Uh. Maybe? Why are we even talking about this? It doesn't matter, what some hormonal kids think on the internet, does it?"

Dean chuckles and shrugs. "It's kind of funny, though."

It's not funny, not to Sam, not at _all_ , but if he says it, Dean'll just get more and more insistent. "Whatever," he says, rolling his eyes. "Stay out of my emails."

"Okay," Dean says. But he smirks like he's not about to go for that.

*** 

Dean starts reading the stuff, of course. At first, he tells Sam about it, starts quoting parts of her writing to make Sam uncomfortable, talks about how he wants to touch Sam's clavicle or how he can't keep his mind of Sam's sweet ass. It works, the discomfort, it fucking works, because Sam knows that hundreds of people, people who think they're real and people who have no idea, grow and enjoy and trade similar _literature_ like free pot.

"Oh, Sammy, were you dreamin' about me last night?" Dean teases, and Sam slams the trunk shut. Yes, he'd had a good dream, and he couldn't help that, couldn't go back in time and alter the sequence of events. But, no, it had _not_ been about Dean.

When Sam yells at Dean about his recklessness? "So protective. I love your angry voice, Sammy. Makes me feel all tingly."

This is how Dean starts to cross the line from, "Ha ha, Dean, get out of my email," into strictly, "Dean, you are so gross! Don't even talk to me!" territory. 

Currently, Sam's not talking to him. Because he's fucking _uncomfortable_ , okay? Dean has won. Motel clerks assume they're together. Particularly clueless teenage girls have snapped pictures of them eating together with whispers and giggles that Sam _understands_ , like a punch to the gut.

"Maybe that doctor was right," Sam says angrily. "Maybe he was right, saying we were too dependent on each other. I'm heading out."

And Dean stares after him.

***

"Okay, you've gotta be a good couple hours away by now. What's wrong?"

"No."

"What?"

"We're not doing this here, on the phone. No."

"So we'll do it when you get back?" Dean asks.

"I'm not coming back. Unless you stop it with the whole fanfiction thing."

"I'm joking, Sam. It's supposed to be uncomfortable. I mean, incest? Seriously? Get a grip. If it's really that big a deal, sure. I'll shut up about it."

Sam's sigh of relief is audible. "Okay."

"Okay? Just like that."

"Just like that."

"Good. You're such a little bitch," Dean laughs.

Sam doesn't answer, just lets the silence hang because he doesn't trust his own voice.

***

"What the hell, Dean?!"

"It was all they had, and I thought you might not be back," Dean explains.

"I'm not," Sam says, shaking his head. "I'm not sharing that with you."

"Well, then I'll take the whole thing, if you want. You're being a baby about this," Dean says, but something about Sam's unease, something about his jumpiness, makes something in Dean snap. "You really think I'd try something, after all these years? What the hell, Sam. You think I'd reach over and...touch you?" Dean tries to squirm away from the word as he says it. His lip's actually starting to tremble, and Sam holds his breath. "You know me better than that!" Dean growls.

"Shut up," Sam says, heading into the bathroom on instinct, his bag still slung over his shoulder. He closes the door, closes the lid of the toilet and sets his duffle down to dig through it, finding his toothbrush. He takes in a deep breath through his nose, trying to calm himself. Dean still doesn't know. Dean'll just think he's being a bitch. It'll be fine.

"How could you _think_ that of me?!" Dean demands, and there's some kind of an old hurt in there, some kind of bad touch that he's remembering, and Sam's screwed.

"I _know_ you wouldn't, Dean. I know you," he begs.

"Then what's the problem?!" Dean trudges toward the door, probably leaning against it he's so close. "What's the problem, huh?"

"Me," Sam mutters.

"What?" The word is quiet, confused. Dean's flaming wall of anger has become the sure glow of his lighter against the night sky in a graveyard.

"The problem is me, Dean," Sam says. He turns the faucet on. He wants Dean to let it go.

When he finishes brushing his teeth, Dean is sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at him. 

Sam averts his eyes and starts to change for bed.

"What do you mean, Sam?" Dean asks. "What do you mean, the problem is you?"

Sam can't look up. He pauses, sweat pants on, shirt half unbuttoned. "I'm sorry, Dean." He carefully glances at Dean, his mouth twitching into a regretful smile for a moment before the expression falls away for good. "Um. It's not you I'm worried about, Dean. I'd never do anything to hurt you, not on purpose anyway," he winced. 

"Sam?" 

"Dean, it's me. It's all me. So can you please not...can you just not? About the fanfiction, and the," his voice cracks, "about everything. I'm not pissed at _you._ How could you want this? It's me. I'm...I'm wrong, and I'm...I'll do what you want, Dean, just don't. Just...don't," he pleads, the tears in his eyes and the twitching of his mouth and the weight of all his confessions on his shoulders making him look every bit the devoted baby brother he always was, in need of love and protection and guidance. 

"I'm sorry, Dean," Sam says. "I didn't want you to know. And I told her to stop. I told her to. I don't want to see it anymore." The tears finally become too much, the weight of the confessions pooling there too and riding down the sides of his face, though his face is deathly still. He takes in a deep breath through his nose to secure him, and lets it out, along with the security it had seemed to bring. 

And as Dean sits there trying to figure out what to do, his little brother seems to find the weight overwhelming. He lowers himself like it's all he can focus on, gets down on his knees, his face buried in his hands. He's sobbing, and Sam hardly _ever_ sobs. Kneeling alone on a motel room floor with his darkest secrets scattered like scraps of paper in the wind, it's not a play for sympathy. It's rock bottom.

Dean isn't sure whether Sam will misconstrue the touch in the already-muddy environment of the line between who they are, but he knows without a doubt that Sam needs him, or needs _someone_ anyway. He knows Sam's doing infinitely more damage to himself than Dean could do, even on his worst day.

Dean gets down next to Sam on the ugly orange carpet and reaches out because he's not his father, reaches out because together is how they'll make it, and he grabs him, he wishes he could imbue some sense into him with force, but Sam doesn't work that way, so the grasping gives way to an embrace, and he finds himself saying, "Sammy, it's okay. It's okay, Sam."

And what's more? He believes it. 

And, when Sam's tears tank is on empty, when Dean hauls Sam up into the bed and tucks him in tight like the child he once was and gets into the other side of the bed like it's no big deal, when Dean wakes Sam up with a cup of coffee and hope in his expression that they might just get through it together, Sam thinks that maybe it'll be okay after all.

Dean's usually right about the evil they hunt. This evil's inside of Sam, but they can hunt it too. And maybe Dean can show him how to fix it, just like he showed Sam how to fix up the Impala, their home on the road.

Sam sips his coffee and tries to focus on how to fall out of love because maybe, just maybe, it's possible. Maybe he can be free.


End file.
